After a busy spell, the bedroom in the East Wing is as warm as spring.
Two baskets have been used as fruit trays on the kang, piled high with golden-yellow oranges, red apples, and dark purple grapes, wafting a faint, fresh fragrance.
Little Ping'an lay at the head of the kang, dreaming away, his little mouth slightly open as he smacked his lips a few times, smiled, turned over, and continued to sleep. In the study, separated by a wall, Zhou Jiao leaned against the back of a chair, flipping through letters.
Zhang Guoqing lifted the cotton curtain and entered with a plate of frozen pears and persimmons on the table, saying, "Just a little treat; eating too much isn't good for your health."
Zhou Jiao nodded noncommittally and waved the letter paper in her hand at him, "Don't rush over to read the mail just yet."
